A beauty to watch, A danger to touch
by Imogen07
Summary: Harry runs away after he's overlooked by his parents in favour of his twin brother Michael. Growing up in an Orphanage has warped Harry's nature and he begins to make a name for himself in the upper echelons of the international political scenes, all the while avoiding the detection of his DADA teacher and fellow Slytherins. HP/TMR DarkHarry
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling. Anythings you do not, belongs to me.

'Come on Lily! Push! PUSH!'' The Healer at St Mungo's urged.

Screams of pain tore through the small hospital room as Lily Potter gave birth to two twin boys at 11: 55 PM. Meanwhile, her husband James waited outside, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. From time to time, he'd dart a glance to the clock at the front reception before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. All he could think about were the new additions to his family. And also how the Saviour of the Light could be currently exiting his wife.

The prophecy echoed in his mind. Of course not all of it, just the first part. Albus said it would be dangerous to know the whole thing altogether and said not to think on it too much; but he did.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

Of course it didn't have to be one of James' and Lily's twins, the Saviour could be Neville who was born just a few hours ago. Both Frank and Alice had also faced the Dark Lord three times and got away with just surface wounds and their lives barely intact. However, Dumbledore wasn't too sure on who the Chosen One would be and so it could be either Neville or the twins. The matter was indefinite and drew Lily, James, Frank and Alice round the bend.

''One last push! And there we go!'' The nurse inside beamed at the exhausted red head and Lily smiled back weakly. ''They're absolutely gorgeous Ms Potter! Now why don't I go get your husband, I'm sure he's quite worried; I see no reason to keep him from you!'' The nurse had to yell slightly over the wails of the newborns but eventually, she just silencio'd them

The midwife bustled around the room but whilst she was gushing about her first delivery, she accidentally mixed up the times of which the twins were born. Nurse Duffy peered at the tag saying 11:56 PM then at the one saying 11:59 PM before gazing at the two boys in front of her. She figured the time didn't matter and stuck the wrong label on what she thought was the right baby then poked her head outside the door.

Suddenly, James burst into the room and sighed in obvious relief as he saw his wife resting on the bed with two identical cribs placed near her. Lily's eyes were closed but James knew she wasn't really asleep, just embracing the feeling of motherhood. He placed delicate kiss on her forehead and whispered in her ear, ''How are you love?''

''Just dandy thanks.'' Came the short, tired reply. James chuckled softly and moved over to the cots to give his wife some peace. He looked over at the twin boys and muttered to himself, ''I'm a father.'' A goofy smile stretched his face and a satisfied hum escaped his lips.

On the left was Michael Henry Potter he decided, with a sprinkling of red hair spread over head and was a healthy pink. James observed how his oldest son had Lily's flaming red hair but his warm, chocolate eyes. The shape of Michael's lips were also his and so was the wide nose and square jaw. On the right, a total contrast to his brother, was Harry James Potter.

The difference between the two startled James and he unconsciously took a step back.

Harry was nearly as pale as a ghost and already had a large tuft of raven back hair on his head. Despite still having baby fat, Harry's chin was obviously pointier with slightly more prominent cheekbones. His lips were like Lily's, pale pink and his nose straight and slightly turned up. What shocked James the most was Harry's eyes. They were green, of course like Lily's but whereas Lily's were emerald Harry's weren't. Both weren't even the same colour! One eye was a deep emerald with gold shards and the other was a light grey with darker grey shards but both were encircled by a deep black. It was unnatural.

James took a deep breath. He refused to judge his son by his appearance. He'd made enough mistakes by doing that. No, he'd love Harry no less than Michael.

"Welcome to the world my sons.'' He murmured softly.

* * *

><p>Lily heaved a great sigh from where she was sleeping in her and James' bed, "Go check on them won't you?" she muttered tiredly, turning so she didn't see her husband's discontent frown.<p>

''We do have a House Elf Lils.'' James mumbled, clearly annoyed.

''Yes James but you know it's Michael crying and you also know that Minky has no effect on him so get a move on.'' Came the hissed response and with one last huff, Lily pulled the duvet over her head so only a few strands of red hair peeking out were proof of her existence.

The overgrown Gryffindor rolled out of his bed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly before blinking the last dregs of sleep out of his eyes.

Slowly, he pushed open the door to the twins' room, being careful not to awake the slumbering Harry. Really, he didn't know why he bothered. If Harry could stay snoozing through Michael's racket then surely he wouldn't wake when hearing the creak of the door.

With that thought in mind, James opened the door a tad louder than he wanted to and could've wrung his own neck in frustration because he'd only managed to wake Harry. And whilst Michael unbearably howled and tossed and turned, an upset Harry was the worst because Harry would stay stock still and cry silently, staring with his freaky eyes. The fact that there was no sound from Harry was quite creepy and the ogling unnerved James. Lily told him her husband to stop being silly because Harry was only six months old but James just couldn't help it.

James sighed- he seemed to be doing alot of that lately- and began to prepare for what he knew would be a long night.

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore had floo-ed into the Potter's fireplace and was met with the sight of two harried, young parents. Both were cradling one baby each and the wizened Headmaster had to smile at the homely picture they portrayed. It pained him to think that this family's bright future was undetermined because of how the defeat of Voldemort could rest on their shoulders but Dumbledore knew that sacrifices had to be made. It was for the greater good after all.<p>

''Albus! Oh take a seat! Can I get you some tea?'' Lily exclaimed as she noticed her previous Headmaster exit the fireplace.

''No dear, I'm quite alright. But a seat would be appreciated, thank you. These old bones aren't what they used to be I'm afraid." Blue eyes twinkled merrily before they sobered, "Lily, James, you both know why I'm here don't you?"

The couple exchanged a fleeting look before sitting opposite Dumbledore, placing the twins -who had managed to calm down- on their laps.

''Of course." James smiled grimly, trying his best to stay positive.

''Well, Voldemort had already seized hold of the Ministry and it won't be long before he comes looking for you. You hold in your hands, the possibility of an end to the Dark Lord's reign and we all know He will take action. If I may, could you allow me to do a quick scan of the magical cores inside Michael and Harry? It won't take long or do the boys any harm.'' Dumbledore looked beseechingly at Lily and James Potter over his half moon spectacles, already knowing that the couple would agree.

Lily nodded, as did James and Michael was the first twin to be handed over for a scan.

Dumbledore sat the red head on the coffee table in front of him and pointed a wand at Michael's heart whilst his parents watched worriedly. The professor muttered a lengthy spell and assessed the results in front of him.

''Ahh. Michael it appears has a very big magical core, just about above average and strong as well. Hmm... Has he shown any sign of accidental magic yet?'' At James' negative answer he continued, ''Well you should be expecting an appearance soon. How old are the twins?''

''Eleven months.'' Lily replied.

''Good good. Young Michael's core is developing remarkably well and from what I can tell, it is bigger than Neville Longbottom's." James' chest puffed out proudly at the though of one of his sons exceeding the esteemed Professor's expectations and could barely wait to see how Harry was doing. Surely they must be similar.

Dumbledore handed Michael back to Lily and briefly marveled at the resemblance between mother and son. As Harry sat before him, he muttered the same spell and looked on eagerly at the results.

"Well this is certainly strange.'' Dumbledore faltered slightly and repeated the spell just to make sure he said it right. Lily and James looked on apprehensively.

''It appears,'' he said slowly '' That Harry's results are undetermined. See here? The bar which measures the magical core, its strength and growth doesn't stay still. It moves continuously.''

''What does this mean? Is Harry a squib?!" Lily gasped, shock marring her face and beside her, James sat with an identical face.

''No, no my dear child. Harry is indeed magical but from what I can tell, his core is unstable and therefore... must be weak.'' Dumbledore

spoke his thoughts solemnly aloud and sounded as if he was talking more to himself than to the people in front of him whilst the former Gryffindors visibly sighed in relief, thanking Merlin Harry wasn't a squib. They would've had to send him away if that were the case.

Peering suspiciously at the raven haired boy in front of him, Dumbledore mulled over Harry's appearance. His cheekbones boasted his paternal grandmother's Black lineage and his slightly pointed chin was evidence of his Malfoy Heritage. His nose was small and elfish, just like that of a Greengrass heir and small frame was that of a Nott. All in all, Dumbledore could see that Harry looked like a perfect little Pureblood baby though he was infact a Half-Blood. Strangely, whilst Michael looked like a mixture of James and Lily, Harry didn't look anything like a Potter. Dear Merlin, somehow, the child had managed to inherit all the features of the Dark Pureblood families and Dumbledore silently pleaded to the Gods that Harry didn't also inherit similar characteristics. Harry's eyes were also something he couldn't help but notice. They were odd. Two different colours and wasn't that rare; Dumbledore couldn't remember that ever happening in all the time he'd been alive and the irises weren't even ordinary colours but a sort of jade, emerald and silvery gray. Slytherin colours, he couldn't help but notice.

''What is Harry's behaviour like?'' Dumbledore asked, curiousity tainting his words. Lily hesitated slightly before replying.

''He's quiet. Not shy but he sort of like, well if there are guests round he wouldn't interact with them.'' Lily struggled as she tried to describe Harry and started to realize things she hadn't before. ''Michael would laugh and gurgle but Harry would just sit there; I hadn't noticed before but I can't ever remember him ever saying a word or making a sound. Other than crying that is.'' Lily bit her lip worriedly as James took over.

''He doesn't even make a sound when he cries. Tears just stream down his face and the way he looks at you is... its unnerving Albus. Sometimes if he has an accident, he doesn't cry just looks like he's in shock for a few seconds and his eyes widen. Harry looks at me in a way that I feel guilty and it bothers me."

Dumbledore mused over the newly discovered information and replied, "I'm afraid I am unsure of what you can do about Harry's behaviour. I can only hope that it just a phase and he'll grow out of his shell in the future." Lily and James nodded dejectedly.

''However, concerning Michael and his core which is quite impressive by the way, I do think he's the Chosen One." Dumbledore informed them solemnly, a grim smile set on his face like wax.

Lily's eyes widened significantly and suddenly there was a bright, wet sheen coating her vision. James ran a hand through his raven hair, tousling it even more before hanging his head. The couple felt their worlds dim. Voldemort would be after their son, there was no doubt about it and Michael would either defeat him or die in the process. Neither of the Potters were too pleased about the latter but knew that they couldn't waste time mopping. They were meaninglessly burning daylight when they could be creating wards, forging alliances and drawing up contracts. And Michael had to be protected. No matter the cost.

* * *

><p>Squeals of laughter echoed through the the Potter cottage as little baby Michael was thrust into the air before being caught again by his father's strong arms. James then proceeded to blow a raspberry on his son's cheek and grinned as it elicited a delighted gurgle.<p>

In the corner, sat watching father and son engage in a cozy bonding session, was Harry Potter. Green and Grey eyes watched blankly as the red head squirmed in his fathers embrace and giggled joyously. As yet again, Michael was pulled from the air by gravity, Harry briefly wondered what would happen to his brother if James were to get distracted and forget to catch him. He shook his head, that wasn't something appropriate he should be thinking about. The raven haired boy was only fourteen months.

Turning his attention back to his book, Harry thumbed through his mother's old and battered copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard. Of course he was too young to read all the words properly but he could recognise a few. The pictures and designs of the book appealed to him the most; forging silver patterns traced the spine and edges of the book whilst semi precious stones were dotted around the title. The book itself had been laminated by Moroccan leather and was hand written in Gothic, spidery italics. The Fairytales had been handed down through the Potter lineage hence its worn state; no spells or protections were in place to preserve the book because it'd react dangerously with the enchanted pictures which produced a hologram when opened at the correct page.

Lily would always read this book to Harry specifically before bedtime because she knew he had a greater love for books than his brother- who would end up tearing the pages in boredom- and was delighted when Harry crawled towards their bookshelf and pulled out a random book and began to turn the pages. However now she didn't have the time, Lily was always too busy with taking care of the 'Chosen One'.

'She never has time for me.' thought Harry, sadness seeping into his heart at being rejected in favour of his twin. He still remembered the look on his face when his mother snapped at him when he asked for a bedtime story whilst she was attempting to tame a howling Michael. Of course she sighed and immediately apologized after, but Harry knew her heart wasn't in it.

''Dada! Dada!''

Harry was suddenly brought out from his thoughts by a high pitched voice. His neck snapped up to see a shocked but delighted James and a smiling red head.

''What did you say Michael? Say it again?'' James pleaded, a rather dazed but gleeful look on his eyes. It was just that moment where Lily also entered the room and barely took another step before her husband's yell attracted her attention.

''LILY! Lily, you''ll never guess what!'' James cried, grinned widely.

"What?'' she replied in a distracted tone.

"Go on Michael!" Hazel eyes glittered in anticipation as his son opened his mouth and slowly said...

''Dada."

Lily let out a shrill scream and ran towards her oldest son, scooping him up and kissing him repeatedly. She gushed at his progress and commented on how smart her son was before she was interrupted by James commenting -or rather boasting about- on how Michael had said 'Dada' and not 'Mama'.

Emerald eyes sparkled in fury and jealousy before they sought out Harry in his little corner, watching them all with no expression on his face.

''Harry, darling, say 'mama'. Come on, please? I'll read you a story...'' Lily kneeled down in front of her son, her gaze expectant yet demanding.

The ivory skinned child continued to stare blankly at his mother, not even blinking. His gaze was equally as unwavering. Harry knew what his mother wanted him to do, his brain was sharp like that but he didn't want to and so he remained silently. He knew that he could say it if he wanted because he had spoken before, albeit to the House Elf -who was his friend- but she hadn't reported anything and so he chose not to. He also knew that his mother was bribing him with something she knew he sorely wanted but Harry refused to gain anything if it wasn't sincere. He was being used and he didn't like it. So he clammed up.

Clenching her jaw in annoyance, Lily turned her back to Harry and promptly forgot about him. Choosing to instead, lavish attention upon her 'clever' child. Besides, who knew how long Michael had left in this world and Lily wanted to spend all free time with her son to make up for any time she was away from him because right now Michael's days were numbered.

"LILY! Lily its him! Take the twins and run! I'll hold him off.'' James' yell was deafened by the loud bang made by Voldemort blasting the gate off. The dark figure then glided towards the door, which met the same fate as the gate.

Emerald green eyes widened in fear, for her husband and her children as Lily roughly grabbed the twins, red hair flying around her like a halo. She deftly ran up the stairs, looking back once to see her husband swallow the potion in his pocket and then engage in a duel with the Dark Lord.

'Please let James be alright.' Her silent prayer rang ominously in her head as it was met with no response.

Kicking open the door to her sons' room, Lily marched forward and put Michael and Harry in their respective cots, kissing them both lightly on the forehead. She then downed the same potion as James had done before and thrust it away in a corner just as Voldemort stepped into the room.

Crude, poppy red eyes evaluated the scene briefly before they met emerald ones directly. Lily Potter stood in front of two cots, her arms spread, shielding her babies.

"Please not the twins! Have mercy!" Lily pleaded desperately, wetness coating her eyes.

"Stand aside silly girl." Voldemort snarled impatiently, gesturing with his wand.

"NO! Not the twins! Take me instead!"

"I'll give you a choice. The red head or the little raven?" A sardonic smile stretched across a lipless face as it silently laughed and jeered at the mudblood.

Lily faltered. And turned to look between the two. Michael was bawling his head off and shaking his cot whilst Harry looked at her accusingly, like he knew what she was thinking. A little voice whispered in her head, "Michael is more important, he's the Chosen One. And lets be honest, Harry isn't entirely normal, he's a mute as far as you can tell. Weird too. He might be autistic. He'll only hold Michael back..."

A cruel laugh brought Lily out of her thoughts. It chilled her bones and made her limbs shake uncontrollably. Her face turned deathly pale as Voldemort began to speak.

"What a sad little mudblood you are. You're actually considering it. From what I can tell, you favour the fat one don't you? No matter, both will meet their end.'' It was a rhetorical question. And Lily had never felt so guilty in her entire life.

'Harry, mummy's sorry.'

A flash of red light hit her and then all was black.

Voldemort kicked aside the stunned body and stalked towards the cribs. He looked at the two babies inside and while looking at the red head, he was reminded of why he had always hated children. But then the smaller, more frail looking child attracted his attention and Voldemort fund himself being absorbed by the grey and green eyes. He'd never seen anything like it. And the boy was so pale and his hair so dark; the boy would've been beautiful if he had the chance to grow up. And Voldemort did so like pretty things. What a shame.

The yew wand rose so it was level with the boy's eyes and then came the words Voldemort would soon regret for the rest of his life. Or death depending how you looked at it.

"Avada Kedavra!" He hissed manically and to his shock the green spell hit the youngest Potter and was slightly absorbed before being reflected back.

Pain. All consuming pain was all he felt as the Dark Lord felt his bones freeze and crumble. An excruciating burning flowed along his bloodstream and it felt as if a thousand sun kissed needles were being punctured through his skin. The scream that came from his mouth was deafening in the silence as his body finally disintegrated and vanished, leaving only black rags behind.

Then Harry gasped. He felt a burning sensation in his head and it felt like it was going to split his head in half. He hissed in pain as blood poured out of his fresh scar and dripped down his nose. Beside him, Michael whimpered as the spell's power had shaken the room and the twins' baby mobile was threatening to fall on top of them. Harry had rolled away just in time but Michael's constant fidgeting of the cot meant that the cord snapped and fell on top of him. Harry didn't really care and just as he heard the creak of the door he closed his eyes and welcomed Morpheus' embrace.

* * *

><p>Aurors swarmed the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, led by Dumbledore and the Mistress of Magic, Millicent Bagnold. The news of the fire that consumed the Potter's cottage raised alarms and the neighbours had reported the incident immediately.<p>

After the fire had been put out, Dumbledore was quick to enter the household and grimace at the carnage. He didn't hold much hope for the families lives but knew it was for The Greater Good.

So imagine his surprise when his ears caught the sound of a deep whining. Eyes widening, the Professor rushed towards the figure who appeared to be stuck under a block of wood. Relief seeped over him and Dumbledore was glad not to have lost one of his most prized warriors.

Soon, the Aurors had also reached his side and were beckoning the Healers.

Levitating himself up the stairs, Dumbledore sighed to himself. Who knew what awaited.

Sounds of a baby crying floated towards the wizened old man, but at the time Dumbledore hadn't noticed that it wasn't a child but indeed, the child's magic calling out to him. The Hogwarts Professor was Magic sensitive but his tendency to think he knew everything flawed his understanding. It was a delicate yet haunting sound and carried along with it a melodic hum. It was strange because Michael never cried like that. Dumbledore had never heard anyone cry like that. Despite its melancholy pleasantness, Dumbledore still cringed because the sound encompassed him in guilt.

Peering into all the rooms, Dumbledore found them all empty. But the sounds were coming nearer and nearer and so with no small

amount of trepidation, the twins' room was slowly opened. Suspiciously, the crying stopped.

* * *

><p>''Michael Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived!" Dumbledore announced gleefully to the room full to the max with journalists writing furiously.<p>

It was a joyous event when Dumbledore had found Lily Potter alive but unconscious amongst the rubble. Moving over to the cot provided evidence of a slumbering Harry and an injured Michael. The red head was bleeding just above his right eye and after a quick magical detection spell on the boy, Dumbledore found that his magical reserves were low. That must've meant that Michael was put through an incredible traumatizing experience and needed his magic to stop his health deteriorating. Another scan and then Voldemort's magical signature appeared.

Stalking over to Lily, Dumbledore shook her awake and didn't wait for her dazed emerald eyes to clear up before plunging straight into her memories. From what he now understood, Dumbledore was able to reach the conclusion that as a result of being protected by his mother, Michael was able to deflect the Killing Curse because of his Mother's love.

Of course Dumbledore didn't notice Harry's lightning bolt scar that had healed itself an lay covered under a mass of black hair. He also hadn't bothered checking Harry's aura and how it glowed. Neither did he notice the runes etched onto Harry's wrist. For that mistake, he'd pay for it with his life.

Arms were waving frantically in the air as the journalists clamoured for attention.

"How did Michael Potter survive You-Know-Who's killing curse?!" One yelled, his booming voice more audible above the rest.

Dumbledore looked to Lily Potter, who smiled wanly, still not properly revived after the incident prior to today.

"Michael was protected by his Mother's love. Lily Potter was prepared to sacrifice her life for her son and because of that, a bond was formed between mother and son which stopped the Darkness from penetrating Michael's heart."

For some who read that line after it was printed, Dumbledore's dotage was sickening. His tales of morale and Light brought up their breakfasts.

"How did Lily and James survive?!"

"Ahh, well my dear, have you heard of the potion Felix Felicis?" The headmaster arched a brow bemusedly and chuckled as mutterings broke out and spread like an army of ants. Whisperings of Liquid Luck soon reverberated throughout the room.

"Are you saying that a mere potion could defeat You-Know-Who?" A woman with bouncy blonde curls and red talon-like fingernails sneered.

"No," Dumbledore frowned at the newest addition to the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter had already begun making a name for herself and would no doubt twist his words the first chance she got. It was best to inform the masses of the truth before demands for Felix Felicitus shot through the roof. "It merely helped Lily and James escape with their lives child.'' Dumbledore said solemnly. "But barely. If the Healers hadn't arrived so quickly they mayn't have been so lucky."

''Is You-Know-Who gone for good then?" Demanded another pesky writer.

'To tell them the truth or not? Hmm.. They'd believe what they want anyway'

"It seems that way my boy, yes. All thanks to Michael Potter." Dumbledore smiled brightly as cheers threatened to knock down the pillars the Ministry's auditorium stood up on.

* * *

><p>The Potters were celebrating Michael's fourth birthday. Vibrant streamers and singing balloons were hung across the rooms whilst self exploding party poppers burst the eardrums of guests flowing into the main room. Among it all were Lily, James and Michael Potter, the birthday boy himself, who were soaking up the attention like a sponge. Various guests paused to marvel and strike up conversation with the Boy-Who-Lived before being pushed aside in favour of a more influential politician or prosperous CEO; anyone who had more wealth and power than the present guest.<p>

None of the people at the party were family friends of the Potters but rather people who Dumbledore thought that would get somewhere and take up the Potter name with them. The birthday party was more to flaunt off the Chosen One and magnify the Light side's win and by attracting the attention of the Media, it meant more publicity was gained, even after all this time. This all meant that the Potter family held the image of what Muggles called a Nuclear family. The ideal family. But the public were easy to manipulate as all it took was one popular opinion to sway the whole crowds and so when Harry Potter was being ignored, no one really noticed because there was Michael, more than willing to soak up the limelight for his little brother.

The reason why Harry was being excluded was because he didn't like the attention. When his mother had attempted to pull him into the picture for the Daily Prophet, Harry shook his head fervently and pulled away. Much preferring his peaceful books to the rambunctious crowds who were getting drunk and dancing wildly. Harry felt ashamed at having to witness such occasions because of the way the wizarding people would criticize muggle behaviour but then act exactly like them whilst proclaiming themselves better.

Lily had also snapped at him, her emerald eyes ablaze with anger and irritation. Ever since that night of the Dark Lord's defeat, Harry's mother could never properly look him in the eye. The little raven haired boy thought that it was because she felt embarrassed because she had picked Michael over Harry. The quiet child felt overwhelming sadness and self pity since that day because in his four year old state, he was still overlooked despite needing just as much care and attention as his brother. Of course the Potters didn't neglect him, but they still made him feel like he was less important and didn't matter as much as Michael who had everything tailored to his needs. He'd even gotten his own, new personal House Elf.

But Harry did find solace in Minky. He could talk to her whilst she was cooking or washing up and she'd smile at him gently and scoop him up and play with him until James walked in and demanded to know what she was doing. She'd also teach him how to read and write properly despite not being perfectly literate herself because neither of Harry's parents bothered to. Minky was the only being Harry ever opened his mouth for and so until today, his fourth birthday not that anyone except Minky noticed, everyone around him assumed he was a mute.

Yet again, Harry was stood in a corner watching his family laugh and open presents together. Michael already had several Broomsticks, practice wands, sweets, toys and books from people he didn't even know. And Harry had nothing. He blended into his corner so well that he looked like a shadow. His shock of black hair contrasted his ghostly pale skin so vividly but still, he managed to go unnoticed. At the time, he hadn't realized it was his magic swarming him because of his subconscious desire to be unseen but rather believed that he was being ignored. It made him bitter and jealous.

Suddenly, a bony arm yanked on his sleeve and Harry found himself being dragged away from his cozy hole. Still, he remained silent because he didn't want to alert anyone of his speech. Finally, it was when they reached a stuffy, damp hole behind the kitchen that Harry hissed at his only friend.

"Minky! What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" He hissed, knowing that he shouldn't be speaking so rudely to his only source of comfort but he was still getting over his alarm at being dragged away from what he liked to call Harry's corner.

"Master mustn't be mad at Minky! Minky was only bringing Master someplace where there wasn't nasty wizards about! Minky is sorry. Minky is a bad House Elf!" She whined, pulling her ears downwards and heaving giant sobs. Harry raked a hand through his mess of hair and soothed the crazy Elf in a softer tone.

"Minky stop. We've spoken about this." Immediately, the Elf seized her distraught wailing. "Now what is it you want?"

Minky looked around fearfully, her already bulbous eyes widening further.

"Minky's be bringing Master his present." She whispered before bringing her hands towards Harry's face and placing each palm on both his temples.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked warily but was silenced by the House Elf.

She began whispering to herself and tracing patterns around his temples. Her round eyes were narrowed in concentration and beads of sweat formed on her wrinkly forehead. All the while, Harry was looking at her in wonderment. Minky had told him of the Olde Ancient Elven Magic and how Elfs could barely perform it. They had loss all their true magical powers as soon as the wizards had bound them and now only few had the magical prowess to perform simple, domestic chores. However there were many loopholes in Elf Magic, for instance any Elf could apparate in or out of Hogwarts. In this case, Harry knew what Minky was doing should be impossible but could only look at her gratefully as she endowed him with a blessing.

"Thank you Minky." Harry murmured softly, eyes shining at the thought of anyone caring for him enough to bestow him such an honored gift. When someone was blessed by Ancient Elf Magicke, it meant that the Elf would be bound in servitude to that person and the Wizard in question would have their appearance adjusted and their magic so finely tuned that it knew no bounds. As his skin soaked the Magic, Harry could see his skin become pearlier and felt his ears become slightly pointier. His eyes had a new, dark sheen to them and his posture was more refined. And he was only four years old.

"But if you don't mind me asking, why?" Harry didn't even understand his own question but he felt a perplexed and dizzy. His eyes narrowed as a tear leaked from the House Elf's eyes.

"Master's always being nice to Minky. Nicer than anyone be's to Minky ever in all of the Potter ancestors!" A great sob slipped past her lips as she thought of what she was going to say next and how it would break her poor Master's heart. "Minky wanted to show Master shes be sorry."

"Sorry for what exactly?" Harry didn't mean to sound so sharp but for some reason he a was beginning to dread her answer.

Minky was wringing her hands together and shuffling as she answered, " Minky was doing her chores sir, but I's be accidentally hearing Master and Mistress Potter's talking. And Minky found that theys be talking about Master Harry. Theys be saying that theys going to send you off! Because yous be a hindering to the Master Michael!" By now the poor Elf was in turmoil and looking devastated.

Jade and silver eyes glistened with disbelief and unshed tears. Harry knew that his parents forgot to look after him from time to tome but he never believed that they hated him this much. He wanted to ask Minky if she was lying but he knew the Elf would never dream of lying to him. She was the only friend he had and vice versa. If James was going to punish Minky, Harry would comfort her afterwards and keep her company whilst she finished the chores. If Harry was being punished, Minky would sneak him food and books whilst he was ordered to stay in his room under lock and key.

Echoes of laughter drifted towards Harry and his head began to swim. His back slid slowly down the wall until he was hunched over, head in hands and began to weep. Tears cascaded down his face as he welled in self-pity. A distant pop was detected by his ears as Minky left him with one sorry parting look before she went to serve the Master of Potter Cottage. He'd never felt so unloved. Not when he had his first bout of accidental magic and was mistaken to be performed by Michael, not when James roughly smacked him on the upside of his head (though he apologized profusely afterwards) , not even when his parents had lost him in Diagon Alley when he was only two and he was forced to wander the streets in the dark until an Auror found him and took him home.

Abruptly his eyes hardened. He knew he'd have to run away. They didn't love him anymore and he didn't love them either. He knew that if he left amongst the party bustle, he wouldn't be missed since it was only 2 o'clock. And so, with his four year old mind set, Harry pushed his way up the stairs and to his rooms to pack his belonging with one thought in his mind.

"This time tomorrow I'll be gone."


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognize does not belong to me but in fact J.K. Rowling.

Little Harry trudged through the rainy streets of London cold and alone. His clothes were drenched and shivers wracked his bones, his frail body not being able to cope with the fierce winds that threatened to blow him away. He hadn't thought to bring his coat. It seemed like such an unimportant belonging but now he was regretting it. He was a stubborn child and in his four year old mind he didn't think that staying at home unwanted was such a good thing. But now he _might_ have wanted to go home.

The noise of cars and bicycles were alien to Harry and he only recognized them because his mother had deigned to teach him about his Muggle side. But it perplexed him, why would the Muggles use such machines if they were ruining the planet? It wasn't all about their needs after all, animals were losing their habitats and plants were being chopped down to satisfy their needs. Harry thought this was quite selfish of the Muggles.

Sniffling and wiping the tiredness out of his eyes, Harry walked on, not paying attention to the stares thrown his way. For a long time he was ignored then, suddenly all eyes were on him. He preferred it in the shadows. He chewed his lip, he didn't know where to go now. He hadn't really thought this through...

Tears began to well in his eyes as he remembered the things his father had told him about why it was unsafe to wander the streets alone. People got killed in the streets, attacked for their belongings and little children could get stolen by the bad men that loitered in the alleys. A policeman walking by noticed the sobbing child and decided to approach the poor soul.

"Hello son."

Wet eyes slowly met his and P.C. Richardson was nearly startled at the odd colours whilst Harry was shocked that he was referred to as 'son.' No one had ever called him that as far as he could recall.

"Where's your mummy, lad?" The Officer continued when the boy didn't say anything.

Harry struggled a minute before he replied, "She's dead."

"Oh," Richardson said awkwardly, wishing that he didn't have to deal with something like this in his first week on the job, "What about your daddy?"

"He's dead too."

"Then who looks after you?" The Officer replied, nonplussed at how the boy displayed no emotion at his parents' death.

"Myself."

Reality dawned on the older man as he came to the conclusion that the child must be living on the streets (though his clothes looked new despite being wet but they could have easily been stolen). He took off his hat and scratched his head a minute before coming to a decision.

"What did you say your name was lad?" he asked.

"I didn't."

"Oh. Right. Well er... what is it then?"

"Harrison, but you can call me Harry." He said after a moment of contemplation.

"Harrison what?"

"Harrison Hayes."

"Well Harrison Hayes, you'll be coming with me."

"But I have somewhere to be!" He protested.

"Nonsense, if you haven't got parents expecting you home then your carers will surely be ringing me looking for you." But the policeman highly doubted that anyone would.

'Harrison' had no response for that and so ducked his head in defeat as a larger hand grasped his. Surprisingly the Officer's hand was quite warm so he didn't mind all that much anymore. He was brought to a yellow and blue car parked around the corner and was ushered into the front seat. In all honesty, Harry was terrified of the Muggle vehicle but at the same time he was elated at the fact that not many wizards had driven in a car before. It was much better than Apparating he'd decided.

* * *

><p>A tall, brown building loomed before him. Its walls were dirty and dusty and graffiti-ed with vulgar pictures and writing he'd only understand when he grew older. The windows were murky and looked to be so thin that they'd break if he were to poke a finger at them. The grass was choppy and yellow, and the tree that hung near the building was as bare as the the grass was full. The roof looked as if it were going to fall down on the occupants at any given time and the front door looked like it had been previously kicked in. The house- if you could call it that- looked to be the epitome of gloom and misery and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the occupants within. Yet, he was confused. Why had the nice Policeman bought him here?<p>

"Well lad, this will be your new home." P.C. Richardson smiled weakly, aware that to a child the building would look more like a haunted house. He also felt a touch guilty as wide green and grey orbs pierced him with a look of horror and panic.

"No! You can't leave me here!" Harry cried out desperate and aghast but to his dismay he was shushed and dragged to the decaying red door and could only watch helplessly as the wooden knocker was banged thrice.

An old lady came to answer the door, her hair was knotted tightly up into a bun and she had a pinched expression to her face. She was short and wore a long grey skirt and blouse and Harry thought she looked very old fashioned. She peered down at the small boy over a long pointy nose and the raven haired boy felt like tugging at it. After assessing the child briefly, Ms Hookberry met eyes with the policeman but didn't bother asking why there was a child on her doorstep.

"What is his name?" She asked bluntly.

"Harrison Hayes apparently, also referred to as Harry." he answered back robotically, slightly intimidated by the scowl set on the Matron's face.

"Apparently?" she repeated sharply, her eyes boring into Harry's.

"I think he's been living on the streets ma'am."

"Is that so? Age?"

Richardson looked sheepish and glanced at Harry. He hadn't remembered to ask him that.

"Four." The four year old attempted to summon up courage but the end result was him squeaking like a frightened mouse. Though he had a right to be. He was a wizard alone in a Muggle world, left to waste away in a worn and crumbling building with a vulture like woman. Who knew how long he'd last.

"Very well. You, come with me. You'll be residing in Barker's Orphanage from now on."

Harry nodded obediently and ignored the farewell he recieved from the man, he was on his own now.

"This is the entrance hall, through there is the kitchen, to the left the play room and over there is the dining room. Near the play area is my Office and private chambers. If you need me you shall knock thrice and wait. There are three floors- on the first, there are four rooms and a bathroom and toilet. On the second, there are three more rooms and again, a bathroom and toilet. On the very last floor there are three bedrooms and an attic. There are no bathrooms so occupants are expected to share either the first or second floor bathroom.

"You will receive toiletries that consist of a toothbrush, flannel, bar of soap, a comb, toothpaste, towel and moisturizer. If you run out, come to me or one of my attendants with your empty or worn item and we'll replace it. Clothes are scarce enough as it is so you should feel privileged that we are willing to provide some for you. Your room is at the top: number 7. Breakfast is at eight sharp, lunch at twelve and dinner is at seven. Be sure to be prompt lest your food is consumed by the other children and you won't be receiving any food until the next meal.

"That is all for now. If I've forgotten anything, I'll be sure to inform you at the soonest time and if you have any more questions, ask one of the attendants."

Ms Hookberry deftly turned away, her skirt swishing around her as she headed towards her office. Harry's face was a picture of resignation as he looked up the creaky, wooden stairs and began to make his way up.

* * *

><p>"Oi! Freak!" Ernie Wallish, a stocky and spotty eleven year old hollered. Shrewd, pigmented eyes rose from the pages of an advanced science textbook to meet the murky brown of the Orphanage's bully. With a passive face Harry watched as Ernie swaggered forward, backed by other acne faced, pubescent boys.<p>

"What are you reading freak?" The pasty faced boy sneered, snatching the textbook out of Harry's hands, "Look boys, he thinks he's so smart, reading an 'advanced' book. What d'you need to now about a plant's bits for, Hayes?" Ernie waggled his eyebrows suggestively as his gang guffawed loudly at his joke.

"Whilst you hold no regard for education Wallish, there are some of us aspiring to not be permanently residing at the bottom of the status tier." Harry replied coolly, trying to withhold a scowl. Albeit it only made the bullies laugh harder.

"Oooh, so the kitten has claws. You think your so smart Hayes but you ain't, you're just as stupid as your whore of a mum." Ernie sneered, anticipating a hot headed retaliation. Harry wasn't affected by the slur towards his mother however. He'd cut all ties with her a long time ago, unaware that his magic did the same and therefore cut off all connections with the Potter family. Subconsciously, he had also pushed all his memories about his family and the wizarding world to a secret, locked corner in his mind. Only a sharp reminder would unlock those memories.

"And yet here I am with a more vast collection of knowledge than you, despite us being in the same living location and being restricted by the limitations of our resources." he murmured aloofly.

"Listen Hayes, enough of this smart talk. We'll give you ten seconds since I'm feeling nice." Ernie smiled, a familiar malicious gleam in his eyes and Harry took it for what it was. A warning.

He sprang up immediately, abandoning his book and pushed pass the snickering group of boys; his spindly legs were now trained to be quick and agile and his small frame allowed him to manoeuvre without worrying about bumping into things. This game of 'Harry Hunting' was a regular occurrence and so after they finally managed to capture Harry, they'd beat him. So far the bullies were only ten and so they weren't very imaginative with their techniques but it hurt profoundly nonetheless. What bothered him most however, was that the attendants always turned the other cheek and that hurt more than the physical abuse. He'd ran away from home to escape the neglect but he'd only escaped one hell and entered another.

Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that the boys were hot on his heels and they'd catch up seconds after he opened the front door. Sure enough, just after he'd sprinted into the back yard, he felt a sharp tug on his collar and was thrown back onto the dry, yellow grass. Dizzying over his head's collision with the ground, Harry was slow to avoid the punch thrown his way and collapsed.

Here we go again...

* * *

><p>Ernie Wallish was one of those boys that were neither pretty on the inside nor the outside. His body was unevenly proportioned and he tended to have bouts of itchy rash that left scars and bumpy skin that got worse in the summer. Wallish was very bitter that he was ugly and also stupid and the little effort he put into class led to the teachers thinking he wasn't at all a bright boy, but another hopeless case. It made him jealous when boys like Harry came along.<p>

People always treated pretty people better than the ugly ones, Ernie noticed. The cute ones got the most attention. However, if you weren't cute or pretty, you could make up for it by being intelligent or having a particular talent. Kindness also got you very far. But Ernie wasn't cute or pretty or smart or talented. And it made him very sour. But it also made him think. If he couldn't be nice to people, he'd be mean to them. It had the same effect. But instead of people listening to him out of love, they'd listen out of fear. Being the eldest in the Orphanage meant he had more power and because he'd stayed here the longest (not a fact he was proud of but was willing to use to his advantage), it was easy to assert his authority.

He also packed quite a punch.

Still, there were people like Harry who had all those nice qualities and didn't need to force people to like or accept him. People flocked to him because he was a cute child and stayed because he delighted them with his intelligence and silver tongue. Harry didn't even have to try. Grace and wit came naturally to him and the older boy did not think this was fair in the slightest.

Whenever couples stopped by the Orphanage, the ten year old always managed to make sure Harry was 'Otherwise Occupied' and didn't get the chance to meet what could have been his future family. None of the children at school associated with the small boy either, lest Ernie's wrath be beaten down on them too. It wasn't difficult to see that any couple would be enamored by him and Ernie knew how they felt. Because deep down, the pasty faced boy too had a slight obsession with Harrison Hayes.

But it could never be known.

He let his frustrations out by bullying Harry relentlessly but he had never let it go too far. It wouldn't do to taint his infatuation. And if punching him was the only way Ernie could touch Harry's soft, creamy skin then so be it. Because inside he knew he'd never get more. And regular beating were the only way to sate his desire for Harry.

There were other bullies of course, that would harass Harry with him but he'd never let them do too much damage. And he made sure Harry was always isolated in the Orphanage by making up stories about him. Though they weren't really stories but assumptions with a grain of truth in them, drawn up by his active imagination. Like the time when Stan Radley was cussing at Harry, saying all sorts of foul things about his lack of a family and the reasons for it, and suddenly, found himself falling down the creaky second floor stairs. He was lucky he hadn't broken his neck the Doctors said but Ernie had seen Harry standing at the top of the stairs with a malign sparkle in his eyes, leaning against the banister for a fleeting second before he vanished. That must have been the day that triggered Ernie's fascination and so far it hadn't faded.

Another time was when Harry had discovered a metallic bauble outside, sometime in the winter. They were all forced to go outside in the cold with their pathetic ragged coats but whilst the children were playing with snowballs to keep warm, Harry was walking at an even pace. You would be blind to not see the grace Harry walked with, despite his age, Ernie observed jealously. It seemed as though the malnourished boy was gliding beside angels and on smooth marble rather than slushy snow.

At one point, Harry had bent down to pick something up and the bully took note of the spark of interest glinting in his oddly coloured eyes. Ernie remained seated, watching avidly as, whilst Harry was tracing patterns on the bauble with long fingers, one of his cronies approached him. Yelling and angry growls were made distinct soon and the group of kids began to circle the pair but somehow were distracted before anything really happened, Harry had dropped the orb at his feet with a contemptuous sneer pulling at his blue lips. Dylan -for that was the boy's name- smirked triumphantly and it seemed only Ernie was able to discern the malevolent set to Harry's jaw. The young boy looked disturbingly happy with seeing another person bend at his feet, the spotty boy noted warily. The cold sunshine reflecting off Harry's normally inky tresses now made his hair look red and as if on fire. Wallish thought he looked absolutely beautiful.

A scream then ripped holes through the icy wind and multiple eyes widened in shock and fear. They looked towards the pair and witnessed only Dylan Moore clutching a red, charred hand and Harry's blank face before he picked up the bauble again and walked away. Drawing closer to his friend, Ernie became aware of the burn in the shape of a globe that decorated the hand and led the way back inside the Orphanage to seek help as he contemplated what had just happened.

This scene had only ceased to make his infatuation even more interesting and Ernie was determined to dominate Harry in the future, when he wasn't so young. But first he'd have to break him otherwise Harrison Hayes would never subject to his... desires.

Snapping back from his memories to the present, he watched as the other misfits of his gang beat Harry whilst he was unconscious. He watched as purples and blues began to blossom on Harry's ivory skin and velvety blood trickled down his chin. Sometimes Ernie scared himself. He knew that thoughts like these weren't normal, after all he'd hate to be_ queer_ but he felt safe in the knowledge that he didn't think of anyone else like this. It was only ever Harry. And it would remain only Harry, for years to come.

* * *

><p>"Okay class, today we'll be doing an experiment. We'll be testing to see how quickly water can evaporate at a high temperature. But I must warn you, this experiment requires the use of fire so stand well behind me, children."<p>

Harry watched obediently, silently as Miss Poppy recited instructions. Class 5B were huddled around a table at the front of the classroom for science where their teacher said the'd be experimenting.

Miss Poppy looked and smelt like a peppermint. She seemed to always try her best to wear red and white striped dresses and her fingernails were always painted the same shade of red. Her hair was auburn and twisted into a high bun and she wore wedged shoes. Looking at her was like looking at a poster ad for a love film in the 60's. Not only was her sense of fashion unique but she seemed to harbor special pity for Harry that bordered on disdain.

Whenever he completed a test, she always assumed he cheated because of his prodigious scores. She frowned when his homework was impeccable and the fact that he could fluently read advanced books. Miss Poppy didn't like the fact that he went off to the library to study by himself because it didn't coincide with the 'school curriculum'. In her opinion, Harry was trying to prove himself and fit in despite the fact that he'd never learn to socialize with the unlearned, ill-mannered ten year old from his class. He abhorred every single one of them. The only reason he came to school was for the library; Miss Poppy didn't ever teach him anything of worth.

A flare of red and orange appeared between Miss Poppy's fingers as she lit a match and Harry's eyes sparkled in awe. He'd never seen a proper fire before, in the orphanage they only ever used a gas cooker and only rarely so bills wouldn't get too high. Most of their meals were either cold or cooked all at once in order to use as little heat as possible.

Green and Grey eyes watched as the flame danced in the air enticingly. It was a beauty to watch but a danger to touch.

Harry looked down at his fingers, he tilted his head and closed his eyes then imagined he was the one with a lit match in his hands. He clicked his fingers. Suddenly there was a warm heat emanating from his forefinger and thumb growing more and more hot. His eyes grew wide and he panicked. If not for the small red burn that adorned his fingertips, Harry would have said he was imagining things. But things just got more interesting.

Ignoring the small burning sensation, Harry focused again and willed flame to delight him once more. It didn't work. He frowned and pushed his will harder. And there it was. "Awesome!" He whispered excitedly to himself.

"Harry are you listening?!" Miss Poppy's high pitched voice startled him, "For Pete's sake Harry, pay attention for once will you?" She snapped and the small raven haired boy felt a slither of mortification swell in the pit of the stomach as twenty five pairs of eyes glared at him before turning away. He heard mutterings of, "Freak" and "Attention seeker" and the vitriolic "Wish he'd just die already" laced with disdain. The fact that he'd only retained his classmate's attention for mere seconds stood testimony to his worth. They were so used to their hatred for him it became second nature to them to assess him scathingly, then carry on with whatever they were doing.

An angry blush coloured his cheeks and he felt an unforeseen spark of anger rage in his head. Where the fury was coming from he did not know. Just that Miss Poppy should be punished for constantly singling him out and picking at him mercilessly. The wooden match currently being lit by the woman caught his attention and his eyes zeroed in on the writhing flame. It was provoking him. His eyes drifted closed and his senses became more alert to the rhythmic pounding in his skull, the rush of blood in his ears and the swelling in his chest. Sweat adorned his forehead as his eyes snapped open revealing swirls of turbulent emotions.

* * *

><p>It was a grim day for Ashton Comprehensive. The whole school erupted in flames that day and firefighters, policemen and staff alike were at a loss as to how it started. It hadn't been proven to be a case of arson, neither was it shown to be an accident (Miss Poppy vehemently denied any questions about the safety of her experiment, claiming they only used a yellow flame which wasn't enough to set the building ablaze. The adults eventually agreed.) Whatever had happened, it had made the schoolchildren even more wary of Harrison Hayes- if that were possible. They didn't have any reason to blame him but it didn't stop rumors claiming he was a child of Satan and a pyromaniac.<p>

The bullying also got worse. With no school to attend, all the children in Barker's Orphanage had no where to go and were house ridden with nothing to do and so became more restless. Harry on the other hand, was more upset at the fact that he couldn't go to the Library anymore and town was three buses away. He kept to himself even more often, only venturing out to the garden when the other kids came in for meals.

It was during one of theses evenings that Harry discovered another trait he owned which alienated him from society yet again. The sun was set low in the sky, and a calm breeze flitted through Harry's patched clothes as he was reading. He sat in the middle of a cul-de-sac of bushes he found through a hole in the fence and decided it was the perfect getaway. A glass of orange juice sat alongside him as he read leisurely, relishing his rare moment of peace. The leaves near his foot began to rustle but he paid no attention to it, dismissing it as a result of the wind.

Then something cold and metallic rubbed against his skin and he yelped once he caught sight of the cause. An olive green garden snake was slithering over his limbs.

_"Stupid human taking my spot. Why if I my venom was as strong as my cousin's I'd bite you." _The snake muttered irritably. Without realizing, Harry cringed and responded, _"Sorry..."_

The snake paused and focused its beady eyes on him.

_"You are a Speaker?" _it asked, tone dripping with astonishment.

_"Am I?" _he replied, equally as shocked.

_"Apparently so, Sire. You had no idea I'm assuming but this is quite shocking news indeed."_ The snake said musingly, a layer of excitement fusing into his voice, meanwhile Harry's head was reeling with this new information. He could talk to snakes? Did this make him freakier than before? Why was it he was able to and not others? What other hidden talents did he posses? Questions raced through his mind and the lack of answers his mind supplied him with left him extremely unsatisfied. It bothered him also because he considered the idea that he was going crazy and imagining things. He'd heard of Schizophrenia and read up on it closely because when he was young, he'd often have weird dreams about a flashing green light and a woman's screams. He was still at a loss as to why he'd had these nightmares and what they meant but he had no leads.

_"Of course I had no idea!"_ He replied hoarsely, still managing to keep an indignant tone to his voice, _"But why me?"_

_"You must be a descendant of the great and noble Salazar Slytherin. Only those of his blood can communicate with our kind."_

_"I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with any Salazar Slytherins. If you wouldn't mind expanding...?"_He said dryly.

_"Why, he was one of the greatest Wizards to have ever have lived! He was one of the four people to have created the esteemed magical school that is Hogwarts and his bloodline is the only one left that is able to communicate with an animal; Not to mention he's written some highly sought out scriptures and is one of the richest, deceased Wizards in Britain." _The snake hissed proudly.

Harry was even more confused.

_"Wizard? Magic? What are you saying, snake?" _he demanded and Harry was sure that if snakes were able to sneer the one before him would have.

_"Have you ever noticed, Sir, that you are able to do inexplicable thing that the others around you can't?" _Harry nodded slowly,_ "Have you noticed that when you're feeling particularly angry or happy or even when you apply yourself you achieve results which you could never have foreseen?"_ By now Harry's eyes were wide and shining eagerly, ecstatic at the thought that he'd finally find out why he was so... abnormal.

_"It is because you are magical, child. You are a young Wizard."_ The snake hissed gently, slit eyes assessing the raven haired boy's reaction speculatively.

_"Magic..." _He echoed dreamily. It all made sense now. Why he was able to do weird things even though he couldn't help it but sometimes if he really tried he could achieve it. And suddenly it all came rushing back to him, his life before the Orphanage, being surrounded by magic folk. Magical creatures, broomsticks and real life fairy tales of the brothers that encountered death used to be a regular occurrence. But then came the memories of being neglected and ignored in favour of his brother.

The memories that came hurtling through his mind at such a time bending speed had him dizzy and also confused about his feelings on returning to the wizarding world that forgot he existed and the society he ran away from to seek refuge from but was desperate to gain acceptance in. He was informed bu the snake that he'd also be getting his Hogwarts letter too. In the end he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, opting instead to focus on the new bits of knowledge he was receiving, thinking it best to dwell on it when he was alone so as not to seem rude and sulky. His past dreams of a green flash and red hair seemed to make more sense and Harry suddenly realized that he hadn't forgotten everything no, his mind had protected him from those painful memories.

For the rest of the evening, the snake entertained him with tales of magic and moving candy and the special school for children just like him - witches and wizards his own age he could mingle with. He was also notified on different blood status' and how muggleborns and half bloods and purebloods were treated differently, all things his 'parents' never deigned to teach him. Harry's eyes began to glaze over at the thought that he'd finally be able to leave this dreadful muggle world and re-enter the wizarding world stronger and more powerful than they would expect. The notion that he would find his own league of people and abandon those who abandoned him was imprinted firmly in his mind.

* * *

><p>The past few couple of days, Had been exerting his magic especially hard with the aid of the garden snake who had no name. He'd sweat daily and his muscles would ache in protest but he kept at it, determined not to lag behind his already magically nurtured classmates when he entered the wizarding world. Here in the muggle world, he had always been above average and more often than not, at the top of his class and called 'prodigious' by the Head Master of his school. Being ignorant was not an option.<p>

So far, he was able to channel strands of magic from his inner core- which was a bluish colour with silver hues- and use it to perform menial activities like folding clothes. Recently, he had also discovered how to heal his injuries however it seemed to him that his quick recovery spurred on his tormentors even more. It was because of the more frequent visits from Wallish an his gang that led to Harry being forced to harness an ability he had nearly forgotten how to do, it was the same ability that allowed him to blend in away from the crowd during gatherings with his past family. Harry liked to call it 'shadowing.' It served to be particularly useful nowadays but the inkling that Wallish and his gang was getting impatient and more and more angry with Harry, prodded at his mental safety barriers. He knew the older boy was getting fed up with the lack of abusive, physical contact and didn't find it surprising when he discovered that Wallish finally found a way to hurt him without touching him.

It was the morning of his birthday, not that anyone celebrated it but he liked to wish himself on the day. But the knowledge that he was the only one acknowledging the day of his birth only served to deepen the well of loneliness he harbored somewhere in his gut. He completed his morning ablutions and ate a rushed breakfast of soggy, stale cereal as usual before he headed towards his room to retrieve a book. Previously, Harry had decided that the whole day would be spent dedicated to him and it would be a day resting in the sun in his usual spot since the last days of July were beating down as heavily as ever but the breeze was enough to bring short relief.

Opening the door to his room, Harry recieved quite the shock. There, sitting atop his once white pillow was a plainly wrapped brown parcel tied up with string. His breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be... Could it? For once someone else other than him had remembered his special day, had seen the miserable things he was put through and decided to offer their condolences through a gift. At the moment, Harry didn't even care what the gift was, it could be a hand crafted paper airplane for all that mattered to him. What was more important was what it represented- acknowledgement.

And so, with a lump in his throat, Harry approached the parcel and picked it up carefully. The wrapping was haggard and bits of tape were randomly sticking everything together; to Harry, it made the moment even more special, knowing that it was another child in the Orphanage that had given him the present. A white box peeped out innocently and a tentative smile played on Harry's lips as he lifted the lid.

His face froze.

It was a snake's head.

The exact snake that had kept his company and had conversed with him. The only one he could retreat to and not have to worry about revealing his freakishness. That snake was his first friend and he'd only known him for two weeks but still the reptile was his most trusted confidant.

Harry's eyes brimmed with unshed tears but he couldn't bring himself to let them pour down his ivory skinned cheeks because he felt numb inside. And also because this emotional pain was worse than any physical torture he had ever felt before so crying wouldn't be enough. Green and silver eyes hardened into thin slits; it was evident who was the culprit. Ernie Wallish had left him alone for so long that this situation had been inevitable. Harry could've hit himself as he came to foresee how far Wallish could go. But the deed was done. One thing he had learnt however, was to never grow attached to anyone or heed your feelings because they'd only bring you pain. The ones you love disappear and turn on you and your feeling betray you and make you weak. And it also made him think...

He had to retaliate. This couldn't go on for any longer and the raven haired boy would have to exact revenge in a way that was discrete yet a glaring warning for all those that had made his life miserable. Pale pink lips curled into a diabolical smirk. They would pay.

That day a figment of his heart broke away because to shatter a child's happiness was to splinter the child's soul.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I do not own etc

* * *

><p>They were at the beach. The matron had decided it prudent to take her wards on an outing because for the first time, even she had to concede to the animosity mounting between the orphans. The whispers of an unspoken challenge initiated between Ernie Wallish and Harrison Hayes were carried to her office doors and made trepidation lick at her gut- for this was the first time the object, or rather animal, of Harry's affection was targeted.<p>

Ms Hookberry had noticed how the young boy grew fond of the snake he had acquired and left it be; because it was better to have Harry distracted and away from the other children where he could do them harm rather than terrorizing the poor souls; even if it meant that he'd have to be unhealthily secluded with no company but his own.

Despite her lack of involvement in the children's affairs, and even though countless times she turned a blind eye to the incessant teasing of a young Ernie, she was still privy to how the young lads with nothing better to do, sometimes took their jokes too far. Perhaps that was why Harrison never retaliated - because it was only a bit of fun. And besides, she was far too old to be dealing with such trivialities and thought it would prepare Harrison well for the much worse cruelties of the real world.

But on the thirty first of July, when the young Hayes came down the steps with what seemed like shadows licking at his feet and a malevolent glint in his eye, the chilling shiver that ran through her frail bones couldn't have possible warned her enough for what was to come.

The news of the snake's beheading amused her somewhat before realization dawned. From the countless times she had dealt with traumatized orphans, she had come to realize the symptoms of attachment. Whilst Harry held no regard for his own health, he had taken responsibility for his reptilian companion. And to have failed the creature meant he had to bandage his loyalty with the revenge of the snake's murderers. Thus were the effects of growing up in a cynical environment were the residents relied on anarchy, and trust was precarious. Yet, it pained her to know that they were still children, forced into maturing early into the mindsets of adults to ensure a solid position in the food chain. Perhaps that was why she let her wards be. Because if they were made to act like adults then she would treat them as such. She thought she'd allow them that much.

She cast her sights on the petite boy who was stepping stones along the water looking for a place to read. She spent too much time worrying after that one - Harrison Hayes - or rather his actions which had bespeckled her Orphanage with much of the fear brimming now.

* * *

><p>Harry's feet traced the smooth globes of the rocky water before elevating himself daintily up the folds. He'd taken to exploring the grim beach for solitude in order to catch up on some light reading. With some difficulty, he nimbly climbed the ragged rocks, taking care to keep his reading materials dry in one hand, until he was out of sight from the nosy old matron. The sharp stones cut at his exposed flesh, but the pain could barely equate to the injuries obtained under the company of one Ernie Wallish; So with a grunt of perseverance, he ploughed on, not registering the cuts and scrapes marring his ivory skin.<p>

Eventually he reached a clearing where the ground evened off and from his position he could barely make out the dawdling forms of the rest of the orphans. He walked on further until his feet bore small blisters and it became difficult to walk on the uneven ground with his scuffed shoes.

Finally spotting a small cave a few metres away from him, Harrison let a relieved smile crack through his usual blasé mask. The entire area looked derelict however his triumph at having his endeavours bear fruit far outweighed his desire to trek back to the sad excuse for a beach.

Curiosity tickled, he ventured further into the black mouth of the cave. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if he got lost and never came back, but then waved away the thought as quickly as it had come, before bitterness could befall his face. Of course no one would care; the only acknowledgment his death would bring was that of the authorities. And then the bitterness was replaced with dark amusement. Contentedness warmed his belly at the thought of him terrorising his keepers even after death.

The inside of the cave was bigger than the outside and unexpectedly dry. Several chambers led off to difference directions but Harrison didn't think it wise to wade deeper in case he got lost. The sun outside provided enough light so that he could read and he was sure that deeper into the cave would be too dark to even make out his hand in front of his face.

As he was about to settle down and pull out his book, a sudden epiphany threatened to split apart his face. Looking around absently, he mentally remarked on the isolation, the lack of human contact and therefore, witnesses. A gleeful chuckle was made more ominous by the sinister echoes. It was the perfect place to deal with a long awaited vendetta.

* * *

><p>''Hello, Ernie.'' Harry smiled sweetly, radiating innocence.<p>

The long trip back down to the beach was made easier as he motivated himself by entertaining the idea of Wallish's demise. Or perhaps not demise, that would attract too much attention, maybe just a spot of a good punishment would set his tormentor on the straight and narrow. He somehow managed to smother a vicious grin.

''Freak,'' the spotty boy nodded in acknowledgment, straying from skimming stones with his friends long enough to deign Harry with a scathing sneer.

''Do you want to see something cool?'' He asked impishly, paying no attention to the hostility. Briefly he wondered at the strange flicker of emotion in Ernie's dull, brown eyes.

''And how would you know about anything cool, Hayes?'' The flock of boys guffawed in response to one of the boys' comments and Harry could've twitched in annoyance

''What is it?'' came a voice laced with bored intrigue.

Harry's eyes drifted back to his main victim, pleased to have aroused his intrigue. ''I've stumbled across a cave. I thought you'd like to see.''

Ernie regarded the boy with suspicion. For the first time ever, the young boy had actively seeked him out - knowing full well that he could get nothing short of a few bruises and a knock about the head. The innocent excitement scintillating in dual coloured eyes also held a glint of something far less good natured, thus unsettling him further. Not to mention that Harry's innocent, buzzing demeanor was uncomfortably attracting the attention of his nether regions.

Harry, sensing the boys uncertainty, cocked his head slightly and smirked. He'd been wanting to test his magic out but was lacking a lab rat. The opportunities Hookberry provided by planning today were endless.

''Or are you too chicken?'' He laced his words with compulsion and grinned widely, watching as before a snarl could disfigure the boy's face, his eyes glazed over and he stood abruptly, brushing off the sand on his trousers.

''Coming, boys?'' the suddenly serene Ernie asked blankly, his eyes unseeing and covered in a milky film. His cronies gave a negative answer, wary of the freak's intentions. Yet Ernie stayed unresponsive and continued staring ahead at seemingly nothing. A minuscule frown was set in Harry's lips for a second. He would have to work on making his magic less obvious.

''Very well. Right this way, Ernie!'' For the first time since Harry could remember, he smiled widely, but it was more like a Cheshire grin. Judging by the disturbed looks he got, he figured his smiles needed more work.

''Ah, here we are.''

As they walked through into the dingy cave, Harry clicked his fingers and watched avidly as Ernie became, once again, capable of rational thought. Gone were the passive eyes and in its place, wide alertness.

''Where are we? What have you done, freak?!'' came the bellowing, indignant voice of the spotty teen. Emerald and silver eyes watched amusedly as their brown counterparts absorbed the dark, secluded surroundings in muted fear and confusion.

''Don't be like that,'' Harry tsked disapprovingly, ''You said you would come with me. Your friends bore witness to your agreement.'' Smirking at the eyebrows knitting together, Harry continued, ''in regard to your first question, we are in a rather cosy cave.'' And with that, he took a step forward, relishing the look of panic flitting over Ernie's face before the panic morphed into a cruel smirk.

''You idiot, Hayes. You really didn't think this through did you? Now there's no one here to see me beat you to a bloody pulp!'' and with that, a fist came flying towards Harry's head but he managed to duck and snapped his fingers again.

''Oh no, we can't have any of that,'' the tone he adopted was saccharine sweet and full of dark promise. In the dim cave, his abnormal eyes seemed to glow and his lips were upturned in a savage smile. His grin stretched gleefully as an invisible force compelled the boy to drop to his knees, submissively. Still, his frozen snarl remained intact.

''I admit I had ulterior motives in bringing you here, Ernie. You are to be my lab rat of sorts, in retribution for your scornful treatment of me across the years,'' Harrison hummed absently as he circled the stationary figure, ''Though I don't have anything grand planned, I'm sure we can be creative.'' Beads of sweat began to trickle down an acne covered forehead and Harry's eyes watched with evident mirth. He hadn't even begun to do inflict any pain, yet Ernie looked as though he was on the brink of soiling his pants.

''First, I think you're well overdue the copious scratches and bruises I attained from your fellow sadists that were under _your _orders.''

Brown eyes watched in horror as a long, elegant finger came and tapped him on the side of the head. The touch seemed to inflict as much pain as a gun wound would and forced a whimper to slip past his lips. Harry cocked his head to the side and inspected the flowering, blue mark with glowing satisfaction.

''Interesting,'' he murmured, pleased at having succeeded in his first experiment. He hummed a jaunty tune as he dotted several more pretty bruises on his canvas that was pallid skin. The short moans of pain were lilting music to his ears and he reveled in the unadulterated power humming beneath his own ivory skin.

''Please... Please, stop!'' The boy rasped in desperation. Harry didn't bother to suppress the abhorrent growl that disfigured his face.

''Did you ever stop when I begged you to, Wallish? Did you ever heed my pleas and tell your friends to leave me be? No. If anything you encouraged them further, all the while laughing at my expense when I did nothing to provoke your loathing. But now it's my turn. And I haven't even begun to give you a taste of what you've put me through.'' The viciousness glinting darkly in Harry's eyes made trepidation wire through Ernie's nerves and he hung his head low. Yet somehow he couldn't shake the thought that Hayes looked absolutely ravishing; with his vivid eyes glinting fiercely, a twisted smile transforming an otherwise carefully crafted mask, and shadows caressing his body- Harrison looked the perfect image for a fallen angel.

And then he disappeared.

The darkness absorbed any form of light the sun outside provided and shadows were pouring into all the nooks and crannies. Meanwhile, the inky atmosphere seemed to fold in on itself, effectively enforcing the sensation of being blind. And Harrison was nowhere to be seen.

The feeling of desolate despair was like ice running through his veins and the air was teeth shatteringly cold. At the same time, the blood coagulating under his bruises seemingly froze and it felt as if his entire being was stiff with malady.

Ever light footed, Harry crept behind his tormenter and with his magic, broke off a particular pointed stalactite.

''Ready for round one?'' He asked with a wolfish grin as he weighed the object in his hand. Then, without bothering to wait for a response, he swung the stalactite and hit the back of Ernie's head with a sickening crack- hard enough to leave him winded but at the same time carefully avoiding any fatal injuries. The sound of a low moan resounded against the cave walls and Harry took a moment to close his eyes and bask in the echoes; when he opened them again, his eyes took on a darker sheen, inebriated with power.

The force of the attack left Ernie on his hands and knees, eyes squeezed shut at the throbbing agony in the back of his head. He was sure that the wet sensation on the base of his head was blood achieved from the rocky texture of the stalactite. Again, his breath came out in short, rhythmic pants as with the pointed end, Harry started tracing shapes into his sweaty skin- as if it were henna. The droplets of blood began to drop down like a dripping faucet and it stung like a thousand sun kissed needles.

Footsteps sounded lightly on the damp floor as his torturer came back around to face him.

''Do you know what this is, Ernie?'' came the seemingly innocent voice.

Dull, brown eyes slowly rose lethargically to identify the mysterious article of clothing clutched in a slight hand. His mouth went slack as he identified the tiny grains of white that dotted the dark cloth. He wouldn't. Would he?

Sure enough, as the freak began to magically float the cloth until it levitated atop his cuts, Ernie's incredulous questions were answers. He _would. _

First_, _only a droplet fell as the clothing was wrung. But it was enough for him to scream himself hoarse- until he felt as if he was _crying_ blood. He continues to sob helplessly as his favourite victim observed him with a crazed look in his eye.

''I guess even you with your diminutive brain have figured out what this is. We are at the beach after all, where there is salt water galore,'' he said nonchalantly, inspecting his nails, ''but I'm afraid I've only managed to spare a single patch of material ripped from my shirt. Still, you needn't worry; I could always go back to dip it in more whilst you ponder over what got you in this current predicament and what you could do to resolve these little issues we have,'' he said lightly.

''You're a freak. You're the devil.'' The exhausted boy wheezed out, using every ounce of his being to inject so much vehemence into his voice. Harry clucked his tongue in response, a crease folding his forehead.

''It appears you still haven't learnt to hold your tongue. Allow me to fix that.''

Then, a needle and thread appeared out of thin air and advanced on a horror struck Ernie. He struggled so prettily but the magic forcing him into his knees remained true and so he could only bawl his eyes out and pathetically beg for release. Not that he'd be granted it any time soon. Even when his mouth was completely sewn shut, the sheer abhorrence alight in brown eyes still irked Harry. So he proceeded to wring the entire cloth dry onto the bloodied, sweating form on the floor. At least his eyes were closed now.

The relentless pain should've knocked the boy out completely but it was only by Harry's will and magic that the boy was barely able to cling on to consciousness - physically exhausted, but breathing.

''Now, what's next?'' Harrison tapped his stalactite against his chin decisively in thought, chuckling lowly at the widening of Ernie's eyes. ''Surely you didn't think that was all? I did say that was only round one.'' he received a dumb blink for his efforts, ''Ernie, I'm doing this for your own good,'' he sighed, ''This will set you right, I am sure of it. And besides don't you think you deserve a punishment that is a hundred times worse for all the torture I've bared all these years?''

Harry spoke with such conviction that the downtrodden boy could only look down in dismay.

''Lovely to have your approval.'' The deranged smile made Ernie feel sick enough to vomit out his insides.

As the raven haired boy set about searching for his next instrument of abuse, Ernie's eyes began to lid in fatigue. Harry, having noticed this, immediately snapped a bone in the boys forearm in order to lengthen the already short time of adequate responsiveness he would receive from the boy. He knew he had to make full use of the sweet, precious time he had been granted.

Nodding in satisfaction at the pained grimace his actions enticed, Harrison stalked back to his spot, gazing down at Ernie from under his nose.

''See this is where you belong, Ernie,'' he sneered, ''Where all you filthy muggles belong. Cowed at my feet. Because you are a pathetic excuse for living. No looks or academic achievements to speak of. What could a bastard orphan like _you_ do for the world. You're only selfishly wasting the oxygen I could be making good use of.'' He sounded like he was casually commenting on the weather. with this noncommittal musing.

''I shall remedy that.'' That cold, dangerous voice coupled with the ominous shadows enveloping him moulded him into the stuff of nightmares.

And suddenly he stalked forward and grabbed the trembling boy by roughly by the face, squeezing his cheeks with brute force.

''Dirty muggle I _shall_ have fun with you,'' he spat venomously. The intensity of verdant and silver eyes forced Ernie to rip away his own plain brown, unable to match the stare. Whether it was out of fear or inadequacy he did not know. What he could gather was that it was still a sign of submission.

''I do think it's time my dear pet was avenged as well,'' he smirked coldly. Forcing weak brown eyes to meet his own brilliant orbs, Harrison began his mind assault.

The powers his Elven Magic granted him were endless. One of the many benefits was that he was a natural in Legilimency and Occlumency. He had cautiously started testing it out on the younger orphans first and then tentatively begun prodding at the memories of the older inhabitants of the orphanage. As far as he could tell, none of them could detect the foreign, ghosting presence in their minds. Or perhaps that was the case because they were pitiful muggles. He had since started to bore of the mindless tirades of memories the children harboured due to the mundane repetitiveness and had learnt to tune them out unless he actually wanted to hear them. However he felt as if something was slightly off about one, Ernie Wallish, the resident bully. It felt as if the boy had a darkly cloying secret keyed in in the back of the boy's mind. Harry had always wondered about it but had never gotten much of a chance to exploit it as he had now. He was rather looking forward to it.

He brutally tore through the images in Ernie's mind, only paying slight attention to not rendering the boy into a vegetable but causing enough pain as he went - if only to alleviate suspicion. Only self preservation held him back from utterly demolishing the boy's mind and forcing him to gag and asphyxiate on the gallons of blood clogging his clamped mouth. He waded deeper and deeper until he finally saw what he was looking for. And to say he was shocked would be a gross understatement.

Sickly nausea began to claw at his stomach at the leering, lewd images Ernie's mind provided. He had never conceived the thought that Wallish was masochist. He felt gut wrenching disgust at seeing the acne prone teen masturbate while conjuring images of Harry in his belittled state, he felt horror at how every time he sported a bruise or cut, Wallish would be sickeningly aroused; and finally, he felt complete and utter hatred and fear as he bore witness to what Wallish intended to do to him as a leaving present before he became of age vacated the orphanage - and Harry's life- for good.

''You sick bastard,'' he intoned somewhat shakily as he stumbled back.

A resounding slap echoed sharply.

''Horrid, filthy muggle!'' he hissed and unstitched the cretin's mouth so he could hear the violent screams ripping through the air as he shaped his magic into a ball and pounded it into the boy's stomach. He'd only realise many years later, that his ball of magic was a coiled Cruciatus- formed from a sudden wave of strong emotion and accidental magic. Right now, it sounded as if Ernie was teetering on the brink of sanity due to the unimaginable pain.

''When I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death. But I won't be granting you that small mercy.'' And true to his words, Harry set about constructing a curse in the mind of the bane of his existence. Again, it would only be years after that he'd realise he was using runes and the darkest of arts to formulate his revenge.

The dark magic radiated off him in waves, calming his mind and ensuring him capable of rational thought. It fizzled like static under his skin and cajoled his mind into heightening the curse into new depths. His magic was so very tantalising that he couldn't refuse; added to the fact that the boy before him embodied all the hatred he was capable of, it only made his plans resolute.

Harry took a step back to inspect his work critically.

Drool formed a crust around the sedated boy's slack mouth and his eyes were clouded over. At the click of Harry's fingers, Ernie snapped back into reality and regarded his vengeful angel brokenly.

''What did you do?'' Wallish croaked, the guttural, gravelly voice the product of hours of screaming and then swallowing the trickle of blood that had shed whilst Harrison ferociously violated his mind. Just as he had violated Harrison in his mind.

''I altered your mind. Added a few tidbits, removed some variation of sanity, you know, nothing major. I've left you enough to not whittle away into a vegetable,'' Harry replied airily, hands stuffed into his pockets.

''What?!'' Wallish's voice was cracked beyond repair, Harrison noted smugly.

''Every time you fall asleep, you will be be placed into your darkest nightmares. I've seen what your nightmares are and altered the settings of your dreams to parallel them more evocatively. There's no way of stopping them. They last longer and longer each time. The only way of stopping them is to die. By all means, avoid sleep and your nightmares altogether; but that will make you even more drowsy and force you into a deeper slumber once you do succumb to sleep. I've also added a few doses of paranoia and schizophrenia for good measure. Just to lull you into a really good nights rest. And to ensure your life, I made sure to slip in anti-suicidal thoughts in case you're coming up with any funny ideas. Still, I'll be interested to see what leads to your untimely death. Whether it be starvation, a burst aorta, or sleep deprivation,'' he explained lightly.

''Dear Lord, you fucked up royally this time didn't you, Wallish?'' Harry sighed in mock sympathy before snorting amusedly. He made to stretch and delighted in the violent flinch it provoked. He let a chuckle fill the tense atmosphere.

''You are free to go, Ernie. Life is short, enjoy it while you can,'' his grin was something akin to a shark's as he released the boy from his magical bindings and cleaned him up so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Gone were the bruises, welts, scratches and dried blood and in its place, skin that had probably never looked better. It was a shame that he couldn't remain decorated with the indelible reminders of his abuse as Harry was, but it just wouldn't do to arouse suspicion.

As the boy fled, Harry called after him one last time, halting him in his tracks, ''And Ernie? Don't be attempting to tell anyone of what we _discussed _today will you? You could certainly _try_, but it would be rather painful for you if you did and your efforts will have been in vain because you'll find that you don't _want_ to share what we did. _Its just our little secret.'' _The already deathly pale boy nearly yielded to a seizure at the use of parseltongue and Harrison couldn't help but giggle even harder at how the boy wailed before bolting from his satanic laughter.

Shaking his head amusedly at the boy's antics, Harry walked to the far corner of his room where he dropped his book. Picking it up, he considered delving further into this abyss as he brushed off the dust with an absent mind. He figured it would do no harm to sate his inquisitiveness and cautiously treaded the bumpy floor noiselessly.

The chambers seemed endless as he descended further and further into the cave. He frowned as, in the dark, he could just about make out the silhouette of torches. Evidently, the cave had been in use in antiquity, judging from the crumbled wood and paintings that lined the walls. With a puff of magic, he lit the two lines of torches and smiled as they lit up in a tamed inferno, bathing the space in light and warmth.

Stepping closer to one of the animalistic pieces of art, Harry depicted a somewhat morbid image of gaunt corpses swimming in a pool of water whilst another person, still alive, was being dragged under to join the masses. Harry stifled a shiver. He wondered if this was a threat to trespassers.

Creeped out enough, he decided to retreat back to civilisation- only to reach a dead end. He was lost and could've thumped his head against the wall in frustration. Still, he could've sworn that this was the way he had come in the first place.

Bony knuckles knocked the wall as a tentative ear listened to the hollow sound reverberate on the other sound. It seemed to be a trap door. Harry felt around the space, searching for a trigger or something to open the wall. When he found none, he stepped back and contemplated his next actions.

Perhaps he could use his magic to blast away a portion of the wall? He could certainly try. A long finger traced the section that seemed weakest and therefore a liable piece to be blasted away. Then he let his magic hum through the wall. To his surprise, he found that his magic felt like it was being pulled through to the other side. Something was drawing him in.

Suddenly, the wall groaned open and Harrison could only blink, startled. Obviously the wall was reactive to magic and so no muggles would be able to pass through. This raised the question of what a wizard doing in a cave located not far from a muggle village.

Remaining alert to his surroundings, he stepped through and was careful not to come into contact with the slimy substances, that looked suspiciously like blood, coating the cave walls. Harry walked through the passage and took the only direction available which was right.

Heterochromic eyes took in the small lake that looked inky in colour and fathomless in its depths. Upon closer inspection, he could see white objects floating beneath the surface. A small gasp evaded his lips as he made out the shape of legs, arms, torsos and heads, pale in colour. It was a physical manifestation of the drawings he has seen earlier.

Alarm bells rang in Harry's head, advising him against the compelling temptation to dip his fingers into the icy water. However he couldn't ignore the fact that he was itching with the need to disturb the serenity of the lake. The warnings were met halfway as he reached for a long twig and strode forward until he was squatting an arms length away from the drowned cadavers. Then, with a tentative hand, he dipped the wood a centimetre into the lake and watched as the water rippled with force not all provided by the twig.

Harry observed with sick fascination as numerous wan limbs broke through the surface and began to pile on top of each other in a bid to drag the stick under the freezing depths. As soon as Harry noticed the white fingers, he had leapt back and abandoned the twig to the mercy of the bodies, watching mesmerised as the water quickly resumed its tranquility.

It all took merely five seconds and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was a Wizard that had crafted this lethal trap. He vowed that one day he would be powerful enough to recreate something as maleficent as living corpses, if not something even more impressive. Maybe then he could drag the Boy-Who-Lived under, along with the rest of his damned 'family.'

Throwing one last stone into the water, Harry continued to last chamber that was hidden under an alcove. It would never have come to his attention if he hadn't felt the now familiar sensation of something calling to his magic. It felt pained and Harrison could distinctly sense undertones of desperation.

Following his instincts, he was led to a cloaked figure writhing breathlessly on the floor. Normally, Harry in no way would feel inclined to rush to the person's aid but now, for a reason unbeknownst to him, he found himself stepping awkwardly next to the figure. On any other occasion, he would've relished the image of someone convulsing in pain and laughed with pronounced mirth. He knew it wasn't normal for a child to harbour such disturbing thoughts. But then again _he_ wasn't normal. He was a freak. Eyes hardening, he crouched down and examined as much of the features as he was able to.

The black hood covered most of the person's face but from the patrician bone structure of the lower face, added to the broad shoulders and general shape of the body, Harry could tell it was a man. Thin, pink lips were pursed in agony and pale skin was flecked with blood from the man having bitten his lips too hard. The panting was erratic and sharp and the young boy felt at loss as to what to do. Clasped in one of the mans large hands was a golden locket with an ornate S embellished on the surface.

Falteringly, Harry reached to take the locket from the man, having creeping suspicions that it was the reason for the man being in excruciating pain.

A jolt of electric pleasure shot through his arm as Harry's skin came into contact with the man's sweaty hand and the child could only stare gapingly when the limb clutched his in desperation. Frantic breathing slowed marginally to a few short, choppy breaths and the body stopped quivering as much but had yet to stop altogether. Harrison watched in silence as the man arched his back with one last agonising hiss before landing limp on his side- exhausted. As he shuddered, Harry kept himself occupied by following the trail of blood trickling down a firm jaw with morbid interest before snapping his head to meet the mysterious eyes.

The figure had tilted his head tiredly upwards to face the one who's touch he had seemed to crave but his eyes were drooping shut and he knew soon, he'd succumb to Morpheus' embrace- long before he got to find out who bore kindred powers to his and why his magic practically sung with joy at having been found in a crumpled mess when, on a normal day, he would've killed the person for spotting him in a moment when he wasn't in his prime.

Harry peeked at the man cautiously from under his fringe, all of a sudden fearing that he'd be punished for trespassing. He briefly wondered if it was this man that had created the animated corpses.

''Wh-who are you?'' the man rasped and evidently, it took a lot of energy from the man to have uttered these few words. The rusty sound made Harry believe that on a normal day, the voice would have been a deep, velvety baritone.

The man watched, enraptured, as with a sudden bout of bravery, the most captivating set of eyes he had ever bore witness to, peeked under long, dark lashes to meet his own with equal intensity. Unfortunately- due to his lethargy- the vivid colour kept slipping away from him. He could've growled in frustration. He noted, under hooded lids, how his saviour bit his lip in contemplation at the question. His mind demanded an answer from the boy, but his mouth provided him with no more words, all his energy having already been drained. He needed to know who had seen him in his moment of weakness and decided to help- which was a rarity that any normal person would've taken advantage. A wizard, to kill him, or a muggle to rob him of the treasure clenched in a tight fist.

With effort, he forced his mind to register the small, boyish form -about ten years old, and he could tell a malnourished child when he saw one,- sharp aristocratic planes in a pale face and the elegant slouch. There was a dangerous aura emanating from the slight form. It was shrewd and calculating. So much like his own... Who exactly was this boy?

Harry stood abruptly, before the man could drink in any more of his features and stared once more into wine red coloured eyes with a small smile.

''A freak.''

And then he fled. He ran and ran until he was safely outside of the cave and didn't pause till he had gotten back to where the rest of the orphanage were still playing under the sunset. Not once did he look back. Because that man made him uneasy, he was dangerous- Harry could feel it. And the connection he felt with him was far more lethal than anything the young boy cope with. It was best to forget the whole thing.

It was as he was running that the arm on his t-shirt was snagged by a stray rock and tore away a patch of his sleeve. He smiled grimly. At this rate he would be getting back to the orphanage half naked. Peering down to assess the damage, his eyes widened as his birth mark- which was previously white in colour, almost camouflaged into his skin- became an deep inky black. His eyes widened marginally.

His birth mark wasn't really a birth mark; more of an intricate, circular pattern that adorned his left wrist and didn't know what else to call it. So when he noticed the change it left him unbelievable flummoxed. He wondered if he'd unknowingly irritated it.

In the end, the mark bothered him so much that he was forced to use his magic to grow back the patch of cloth that was pushed away and pushed the all incidents of today in the back of his mind. It was all giving him a headache.


End file.
